


Accept me as (you think) I am

by prototyping



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance, but it lasts like five seconds bc it loves you too much, sad boy criticizes himself too much news at 11, that's it that's dimitri, you know when a dog gets huffy and tries to be mad at you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22593889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: Of course she had that kind of power over him. He would move mountains for her without question if she asked it.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 14
Kudos: 291





	Accept me as (you think) I am

Any other time, Dimitri would have been glad to turn and find the professor present. He would smile and invite her to join him despite the nervous fluttering in his chest, which had only grown worse in recent months, and be pleased to share in her company.

Tonight, however, he could only muster a tight smile, his tone straddling the line of insincerity. “Ah. Professor. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Byleth took that as indication to approach, winding her way through the library’s tables and chairs. It gave Dimitri plenty of time to close the volume he’d been skimming and casually push it out of sight.

“I’m aware that it’s late,” he added before she could speak. “I intend to retire shortly.”

She reached his table, but didn’t immediately respond. Despite her harmlessly neutral expression as she stared at him, he found it hard not to look away.

He still wasn’t quite used to her changes. Even now, nearly a month later, he was occasionally caught off guard by those sea foam-colored eyes in particular.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she replied. “I was taking a walk.”

Dimitri felt his agitation fizzle out, only to be swiftly replaced with guilt. He’d assumed she was fretting over him again, come to tell him to get some sleep; somehow he’d already forgotten how many sleepless nights she’d had herself just a few weeks ago. He had come across her on the monastery grounds more than once then, wandering with no real purpose other than seeking escape from her thoughts and recurring nightmares about Jeralt’s murder.

The tension in his shoulders faded. “No, it’s… quite alright. I apologize if you felt uncomfortable about approaching me.”

_And why shouldn’t she?_ a bitter voice taunted. _She’s seen exactly what you are._

Byleth gave a brief shake of her head. “Not at all. I assume you have your reasons for wanting to be alone.”

Dimitri didn’t answer. As much as he _did_ want to be alone, a large part of him hoped she would stay. His eyes burned and his head throbbed and he could use the excuse to rest, but more than that, even, Byleth’s presence tended to have a calming effect on him. Even when it didn’t, he found it difficult to turn her away.

In the end he ignored her remark and inquired, “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“Not particularly. I just have a lot of thoughts I’m trying to sort out.”

He nodded lightly. “Concerning the Holy Tomb ritual?”

“Among other things.”

He couldn’t blame her. For someone raised almost entirely outside the influence of the Church, this all had to be a lot to take in. And yet, Dimitri considered, she had attributed her power to the Goddess with such a serious, matter-of-fact expression, and appeared less rattled by her transformation than her students. She was taking it rather well, all things considered, or at least she seemed to be.

“And you?” Byleth asked.

Dimitri held back a frown. He couldn’t bring himself to lie directly, especially when she already knew that he was struggling with insomnia.

“It’s nothing to be concerned about,” he sidestepped. “I also have some thoughts in need of sorting.”

“I see.” She didn’t push. It seemed they were both content to keep their late night musings to themselves.

Even so, Byleth lingered. “How’s your headache?”

Now he did look away. He didn’t want to talk about this—about himself. She and Dedue and everyone meant well, but their concern was tiring. He had too much on his mind—the enemies they had yet to crush, Arundel’s frustratingly aloof responses to his inquiries, the Church’s shortsighted solutions… and, weighing most heavily, the Flame Emperor’s dagger, which was currently concealed in the back of the bottommost drawer in his quarters, wrapped in a bundle of polishing rags. Even now, on the opposite side of the monastery grounds, Dimitri felt its presence in his thoughts as constantly and uncomfortably as though he’d driven the blade into his thigh.

Between that open-ended obsession and the tumultuous emotions it kept churning in his gut, as well as the frustration of finding no new leads, the increase in his nightmares whenever he did find sleep, the constant pounding in his head, the need to push himself to be at his best during missions in spite of it all, and the effort of hiding his anger and fatigue as well as he could every day...

Politely entertaining the inquiries and stares of others, even his friends, was the last thing on his mind.

The silence following Byleth’s harmless question was a long one before Dimitri managed quietly, “It’s fine.”

He took some grim satisfaction when she didn’t question—but when the silence stretched on and her eyes didn’t leave his face, he felt uncomfortable.

He climbed to his feet. “I’m fine.” He shoved the chair in with a bit too much force and knocked the heavy oak table askew a few inches.

“Dimitri.”

That soft, unassuming call stopped him dead before he could turn away. He closed his eyes as he frowned, frustrated by his swirling emotions but hardly surprised by them. Of course she had that kind of power over him. He would move mountains for her without question if she asked it.

When he looked at her again, she only crossed her arms. He realized she wasn’t wearing her armor; the skin of her bare arms looked even softer in the warm glow of the lanterns.

“You’re not alone,” she said simply.

A small wave of tension rippled through him, fading as quickly as it came. The way she said it was so… matter-of-fact. Coming from her, it didn’t feel like an exasperated appeal as much as a gentle, sympathetic reminder. She wasn’t telling him to do anything with that information immediately—she was only telling him to remember it, for whenever he judged that he did need it.

Ever the teacher, through and through.

“No,” he said slowly, “but there are certain responsibilities that I must undertake on my own, regardless. I believe everyone has something similar.” Not always to his extent, fortunately.

Byleth shifted her weight slightly, setting her hip against the table’s edge. Dimitri might have been bothered by the controlled look on her face in other situations, but tonight he preferred it to any expressions of pity. “Maybe so,” she mused. “But will anyone think less of you if you don’t?”

That caught him off guard and gave him pause. He couldn’t say _The dead might_ —but then, if anyone would understand that part of his plight, perhaps it would be her.

In the end he only answered, “What others think doesn’t concern me. It’s about fulfilling my duty and doing what is right.” His voice came out a little deeper, a little more gruff than intended.

Unexpectedly, Byleth smiled. It was small, but it looked real, and warm, and his heart skipped a beat as it always did. “I don’t doubt that you’ll always do what you think is right,” she replied. “Just… don’t lose sight of yourself along the way.” She reached out and set a hand on his shoulder. It was firm without squeezing, a casual gesture of camaraderie, but it surprised Dimitri all the same. It was rare for her to touch him—or anyone, as far as he knew.

“You told me it was okay to take time for myself when I needed it,” she reminded him, her smile fading. “Don’t forget you can do the same.”

Having his own words turned against him was a bittersweet feeling. He opened his mouth to answer, only to pause as he suddenly remembered: more than once, he had seen Jeralt grip Byleth’s shoulder in the same easy way she was doing to him now. Each time it had been accompanied with a smile, a look of love and fatherly pride that left Dimitri feeling wistful and a little jealous.

Whether Byleth intended to mirror the gesture or not, he felt humbled by the realization.

After a moment, he nodded. “I won’t, Professor.”

It didn’t come out as sincere as he meant for it to, but if Byleth noticed, she didn’t show it. With another small smile and a smaller nod she went to step around him. It seemed that was all she had to say.

Her fingertips were still barely on his shoulder when his hand closed around hers.

She turned back as quickly as he guessed she would, her impressive reflexes showing even now. Dimitri stared past her, but he was perfectly aware of her puzzled expression and how close she stood to him now. His grasp on her fingers was more like a light touch, not at all holding her in place, but she stayed.

There was a part of him that wanted to tell her everything. He trusted her completely and didn’t doubt that whatever he said would remain between them—more than that, he was certain he could count on her help. If he confided his recent thoughts to her, she could offer her own insight, and together…

No. This road was his to walk. He had no right to pull others onto it, even if it might make his burden lighter.

Or perhaps that was just his excuse. Maybe he was no better than Rhea, attempting to keep Byleth in the dark because he thought he knew what was best for her. Even back then, following Jeralt’s death, Dimitri had manipulated her to an extent, using her raw emotions to turn her against the Archbishop’s orders. Was pushing her away like this the same thing?

He could tell her the truth, and then leave it up to her to decide what to do with that information—but no, of course she would want to help him. Telling her was just an indirect way of asking for her assistance.

Byleth continued to wait. Dimitri glanced at her, and then dropped his gaze, his hand falling away.

“Please, do not worry about me,” he said softly. It wasn’t what he’d planned to say, but it was earnest all the same. “If you still have even the slightest amount of trust in me, believe me when I say that my choices aren’t worth your time.”

For a moment Byleth said nothing. Then she gripped his shoulder again, more firmly than before.

“ ‘Still?’ Dimitri, at this point I can’t remember the last time I _didn’t_ trust you.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. For the first time since meeting her, Dimitri suspected she was being dishonest. Was he really supposed to believe that her faith in him didn’t waver in Remire Village? Or every time his control slipped and she caught a glimpse of the shadow beneath his practiced surface?

He didn’t think he could believe it—except there was nothing in her face to say she was lying, no hint of doubt in those deep eyes, and every fiber of his being wanted to believe her.

He opened his mouth, only to quickly shut it again. He wasn’t sure whether he should object, thank her, or just bid her goodnight and leave.

So instead he said nothing.

Byleth seemed to be alright with that. Her touch shifted to the side of his neck, her thumb grazing his jaw, and that simple skin-on-skin contact shook him to his core for how unfamiliar it was at this point.

The gesture didn’t feel at all intrusive. Her smile returned, hopeful and open, and Dimitri read it for what it was: an indication of her undeserved trust.

She was extending her hand to him, in every sense of the phrase. She was worried about him. He had no excuse for losing his temper, for doubting her, even slightly.

He looked away as his shoulders relaxed. The last sparks of defiance were dying, leaving him with nothing more than fatigue and his headache.

Sensing his surrender, perhaps, Byleth slipped her hand higher and pressed two fingers just below the base of his skull. It was gentle, but firm enough that his head tilted forward naturally—and as tired and defeated as Dimitri suddenly felt, he wasn’t sure if she guided him or he simply fell into her, his forehead coming to rest on her shoulder.

Her small frame didn’t so much as budge, even when her arm settled behind his shoulders and pulled more of his weight into her. That solidarity cast aside the last of his uncertainty. He closed his eyes tight and allowed himself, for once, to think of nothing but the present.

She was _warm_. Her skin, her clothes, her breath brushing his neck in small puffs—it was pleasant, peacefully so. It called to mind a time he scarcely remembered, when the world was still a good and inviting place and his future was his own.

There were certainly recent times when he had considered himself happy, but he couldn’t remember the last time he felt comforted like this. Almost at peace. He hadn’t thought he knew what _peace_ was anymore.

He breathed in her gentle scent. He listened to her breathing. He endeavored to memorize every detail he could, certain this was both the first and last time he would be privy to them.

All too soon, he felt the featherlight pressure of her fingers let up. Reluctance slowed his movements, but Dimitri straightened up again, unwilling to overstay his welcome or take her generosity for granted.

Byleth still didn’t say a word. She stared into his eyes unabashedly, searchingly, as if looking past his stiff expression for a sign that she’d made a difference.

_More than you know,_ he wanted to say. Instead he settled his hand over where hers had drifted to the side of his neck again—but he did so fully this time, holding her palm against him. He was tempted to give her fingers a fond squeeze, but they felt so delicate that he didn’t trust himself. He hoped that small gesture was enough.

Judging by the small quirk of her lips, it was.

Her smile really was beautiful.

That fluttering in his chest returned and he felt short of breath. The thought came unbidden that he would like to touch her in the same way she did him—but against her cheek, perhaps, to determine if her skin was as soft as it looked.

A pang of guilt and irritation seized him. How were those kinds of thoughts repaying her trust?

And yet, even as he criticized himself for it, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from that smile, or his mind from imagining what it might be like to run his bare fingers over her small lips.

Dimitri knew he was staring. The shift in Byleth’s expression said she knew it, too, and the sight of her smile fading almost snapped him out of his stupor—except her hand stayed, and her eyes still refused to shy away from his face.

He knew he should end it, before he gave the wrong impression or crossed the line of disrespect—but for every self-berating urge to break it off was the increasing curiosity of why she continued to linger, and the excuse to let _her_ end it when she wanted to.

Dimitri would kill and destroy for her without a second thought, and yet he couldn’t muster the strength of will to do something as simple as turn away.

A subtle twitch in Byleth’s fingers brushed them higher against his neck, above where his collar ended. Her gaze flitted between her touch and his face, vaguely uncertain, but he held the look with as much confidence as she had previously, as though his heart wasn’t making his headache worse with its rapid pounding.

Byleth’s expression seemed to soften and grow curious at the same time. Slowly, her thumb followed his jawline in a brief stroke. She hesitated, and then repeated, a little more confidently.

Dimitri’s previous urge returned tenfold and he was moving before he even realized it, raising his hand toward her face and stopping just short. She didn’t so much as spare it a glance; her eyes roamed his face now, patient and studious.

Doubt got the better of him and he settled his fingers on her shoulder instead, stilling their uncertain tremble—and from there they slipped up until they passed beneath her hair and curled around the back of her neck. He regretted wearing gloves.

He caught her split-second glance at his mouth and that was where his doubt ended.

He kissed her like he thought he might break her: slow, cautious, uncertain, entirely submissive to her lead. His nerves were also part of it, painfully aware that he had never kissed anyone and was all but fumbling his way through this.

Byleth moved in much the same way. Her kisses were simple, short, soft. Dimitri wondered if he was her first, as well, and the thought made his chest swell with something selfish.

He hoped so. _Goddess,_ he hoped so.

His breath hitched as both of her hands alighted on his shoulders, an easy touch that scorched his skin through his uniform. His fingers slid up into her hair as carefully as though she were glass, cradling her head as their mouths aligned just a little more perfectly. When she parted her lips, he did the same, and he had to make a conscious effort not to tighten his grip as their kiss deepened.

She pressed herself closer and his senses caught fire, desperate to drink in her touch at every place their bodies met. His free arm wound loosely around her waist, but his fingers pressed sharply into her hip as her hands suddenly moved to hold his face. The firm but gentle touch sent a shiver through him, and Dimitri answered with a harder kiss that Byleth met eagerly. Her low hum in her throat—no, her _moan_ —left him lightheaded with a hot surge of pride.

Dimitri didn’t ever want to stop. For a self-centered moment he would have been glad to stay in her arms like this forever, forgetting his pain and his vengeance and anything that wasn’t her perfect mouth and soothing scent and her soft curves pressed longingly against him.

It occurred to him that he could confess how he felt, here and now. The words were buzzing on his tongue, clumsy and ineloquent but desperate and sincere, the awkward honesty of a man smitten beyond all sense and understanding. He didn’t want to walk away after this as though it never happened—even though he already knew that was exactly what he would do.

His life wasn’t his to give, after all. He had long since accepted that he was no longer living for himself, so there was no guarantee that the future would grant him the opportunity to live for her.

She deserved nothing less than his full devotion. He couldn’t promise that he could give it.

Dimitri broke away, hanging his head and breathing hard. He couldn’t look her in the eye—not yet. Not without the risk of his heart outpacing his mind and letting those words spill out on a fevered, emotional whim that didn’t care about his logic.

He felt warm all over. He shoved away the creeping tendrils of curiosity that clung to the last few minutes, that wondered if Byleth would have objected to his hands wandering farther than they had or lifting her onto the table to pin her down against it—

_Stop it._

“Dimitri?”

Concerned, again.

He leaned closer without looking up, until he could feel his hot breath rolling off her shoulder.

“Professor…”

He ached to set his mouth against the lovely slope of her neck.

To kiss his way up to her ear and swear his fealty to her all over again.

_I’ll do anything for you. I am yours to wield as you will._

Instead, he carefully untangled his fingers from her hair and withdrew his hand. He took a half-step back, putting some space between their chests, and immediately felt cold without her. After a moment more, he raised his head, refusing to show any more disrespect than he probably already had.

There was a flush of color in her face. Dimitri imagined he looked much the same, although not nearly as attractive because of it.

“I apologize, I… I acted out of line,” he said, in as neutral a voice as he could manage.

Byleth grasped the arm at her side, mouth pursed thoughtfully. “Perhaps we both did,” she mused.

Dimitri hadn’t expected that response. Maybe it showed, because her perfect lips melted into another charming smile when she saw his face. “I don’t mean we did anything wrong,” she amended, “but it was definitely _we_.”

Perhaps she knew him better than he realized. Her tone was casual, but her meaning firm: he wasn’t allowed to feel guilty about it.

“...Understood.” Watching her easy expression, Dimitri searched for a hint of anything else—disappointment, embarrassment—but as usual she kept it controlled. Whatever her thoughts were on the exchange, he wouldn’t know without asking, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Not yet, at least.

He might have lingered there awkwardly a little longer, but Byleth’s level head continued to take charge. She touched his arm, too light and brief to be anything but friendly.

“Don’t stay up too late.”

He fumbled for words. Managed a nod. “I won’t, Professor.”

He watched her turn to leave, letting her get as far as the door before speaking up again. “Professor?” She turned back expectantly. His fists clenched and relaxed at his sides as he recalled her words from before. “Thank you. For not… thinking less of me.”

He realized too late that she could take that a few ways—he had meant with regards to his behavior previously, not their shared moment just now—but he didn’t correct himself. With a final quirk of those lips that he sorely wished he’d been capable of tasting, Byleth nodded back.

“I could never. Goodnight, Dimitri.”


End file.
